


The First Goblin Market

by Neshnyt_Jackalsson



Category: Goblin Market - Christina Rossetti
Genre: F/F, Slow Death, fae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neshnyt_Jackalsson/pseuds/Neshnyt_Jackalsson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean knew what she wanted, and what she didn't, but life never works out quite so cleanly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Goblin Market

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Violsva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/gifts).



> Joanna should be pronounced "Zho-ahn-nah", stress on the second syllable, otherwise the lines won't scan correctly.

Over the mountains, through the glen  
Past dappled forests and the dark bear’s den  
Beyond the fields, across the sound  
Follow a stream all the way down  
To a village of bricks, each carefully laid  
Where between two souls, a high price was paid.  
Like twins they were, a matching pair,  
In grass-green dresses, with long brown hair.  
Joanna, it’s said, moved like a flame:  
Burning, searing, without shame.  
At market day, fine ribbons new  
Were collected from boys she knew.  
She laughed like bells, so bright and clear,  
And slipped away when they drew near.  
‘Twas all a game, and she could win  
With wink and nod and glance and grin.  
To Joanna’s flame, there was a pool,  
Calm and steady, her precious jewel.  
Jean looked on while Joanna teased  
And all the grown-ups seemed displeased  
That quiet Jean did not protest  
When from amongst the ribbons best  
Joanna would choose her favourite, and  
Wrap it ‘round until it spanned  
The length and breadth of dear Jean’s throat.  
And she would sigh a single note  
Whisper “thank you” and they would go  
Arm-in-arm, her face aglow.  
Strolls along the wide old stream  
Led them to places yet unseen  
As fair young hands traced out the maps  
Drew sweeping lines and breathless gasps  
Through rose-soft lips. They couldn’t dream  
Of changing tides and eyes that gleamed.  
All was good and right, it seemed.

At close of shop one market day,  
The rain rolled in, the skies were grey.  
A conversation there took place  
Man to man, though in their case,  
Man to boy, a proud strong youth,  
Struck with fancy (though in truth,  
Those rich of coin sometimes mistake  
The actual cause of their heartache.)  
So from her book, our Jean was called  
And at the news turned pale, appalled.  
She forced a smile, as good girls do  
And asked her mother if it was true.  
It was indeed, her mum confirmed.  
Despair as pitch as coal then wormed  
Into her heart, within her soul,  
Til all at once she knew her goal.  
She kissed her mum and hugged her dad—  
Despite his choice, he wasn’t bad—  
Said to them that all was well  
On child-like whims she wouldn’t dwell,  
But would rise up and happ’ly take  
The vows of marriage and wed young Jake.  
It’s for the best, she did agree,  
As they sipped post-supper tea.  
A handsome man of goodly means  
Why, they would live like kings and queens!  
Wear silken coats, ride steeds of white-  
Her parents sighed; they thought a fight  
Would be the only way to end the night.  
For once, they thought, the future was bright.

The sun sank low; the sky ablaze  
With reds and yellows, while in a haze  
Jean walked a well-familiar road,  
Down by where the swift stream flowed.  
Now that she had time to muse  
She was accosted by other views.  
Her brilliant plan—to run away—  
Seemed so stupid—where would she stay?  
To ask Joanna to make that choice  
Jean didn’t think that she’d rejoice.  
But what other option did she have?  
What other course to be a salve  
For this betrayal. A wedding band  
Would be binding once on her hand.  
Jake was fine, a well-meaning boy,  
But she would never be another’s toy.  
Carry his child? Sleep in his bed?  
No, never—she would not be wed.  
Her footsteps heavy, her thoughts a-jumble,  
She almost missed the softened grumble  
A scratchy voice, like unspun wool.  
Jean stood still; a curious pull  
Spread like sleep throughout her bones  
As the unseen speaker then intoned,  
“‘Come buy, come buy!’ my brothers jest  
And never put their skills to test.  
‘The orchard’s fine, no need to trick’?  
Those fools scoff now, but I am quick!  
Why live in chains when other ways  
Could fetch our folk much higher praise?”  
Jean blinked her eyes, she pinched her arm  
When from out the bushes to her alarm  
Appeared a man so stout and small  
She doubted him a man at all.  
No man she knew had such a face—  
A deep-set scowl, no sign of grace.  
Bare crooked feet, a waistcoat in blue,  
He carried a stick carved out of yew.  
He lugged along a bulging sack  
Slung up upon his hunch’d back.  
Grunting, groaning, gaze to the ground  
He paused by the bank and looked around,  
Patter his pockets, gasped and swore—  
“Where the hell’s the key to the door!”  
Jean gasped aloud; his head snapped up.  
“Is something funny, you cheeky pup?  
Have you never seen a goblin walk?  
Or perhaps you’ve never heard us talk?  
Just so you know, it’s rude to stare.”  
And with that, he gave her a glare.  
Jean felt a cringe shoot through her chest-  
She was always a perfect guest.  
Perfect manners, meek and mild  
Such a well-behaving child.  
(Save for the kisses she kept hidden;  
She suspected that was forbidden.)  
“I’m sorry, sir; I beg your pardon—  
Did you mention you have a garden?”  
He eyed her with suspicious air  
Before confessing, “It’s a small affair.  
But with my luck and skill and guile,  
I shall make it worth my while!  
The soil’s poor, but I know a way  
To use fresh butter, milk, and hay  
Combined with sweetness and soaked in love—  
The very purest, what poets write of—  
To build the land and make it sing.  
Then I’ll have gifts to give the king!  
But now it seems I’ve lost the key;  
I’ll never fill the grand decree.”  
He sniffed his nose, and closed his eyes;  
And trusting Jean missed all the lies.  
Her own troubles she set aside—  
She always helped when people cried.  
“Let’s look along the bank together.  
I bet your key’s among the heather.”  
The goblin gave a grateful look  
And deeper in he sank his hook.  
The fading sun turned day to night  
But still Jean helped him in his plight.  
She hiked her skirts up to her knees  
So she could see beneath the trees.  
Underneath a seated toad,  
Startled from its small abode,  
With dainty fingers she retrieved  
The key—the goblin looked relieved  
And snatched it from her open palm.  
“Oh life, oh triumphs, sweet-soul balm—  
For your kindness, mortal child,  
I will grant your hope most wild.  
Tell me, girl, what do you crave?  
A sword-swinging knight both handsome and brave?”  
“Lord no!” she cried, shaking her head.  
“The very thought fills me with dread.  
My deepest wish is to stay unwed.”  
The goblin crowed and clapped his hands.  
“Marriage is awful, I understand.  
But don’t you fret; I know just the thing  
To spare you from a wedding ring.”  
He turned to his sack, opened it wide—  
“Choose three fruits,” he said with pride.  
“Eat them up and you’ll be no bride.”

Full lush grapes pulled straight from the vine  
They went to her head as fast as wine.  
Next she chose a pristine pear  
So juicy and sweet, like edible prayer.  
Last of all, an apple red—  
Jean laughed so hard a tear she shed,  
“To think I’ve wasted all this time—  
The lost kisses alone—it’s almost a crime!”  
The goblin bowed low and doffed his cap,  
Very pleased with his new trap.  
Jean reached up and loosed her hair,  
The long soft mane of a well-kept mare  
Caught by the wind. She raced to town  
Seeking her love with locks so brown.  
No neighbours at their windows spied  
This remade Jean with full, proud stride.  
In her haste, she scaled the vine  
With new-found speed and grave divine  
To perch outside Joanna’s room  
Amidst the flowers in full bloom.  
She saw Joanna seated there  
Brushing out her long brown hair.  
Jean felt a rush to watch her so  
A burning need that settled low  
And hot between her hips.  
The softest tap of fingertips  
Threw Joanna from her task  
And to the window she fled to ask  
How could it be, her dear sweet Jean,  
Dared to climb in dress so green  
Whence before the quiet maid  
Would have been far too afraid.  
The window opened, Jean slipped within  
And clasped the arms of her not-quite twin.  
“Joanna, I’ve news both good and bad  
Though truthfully I am so glad—  
For this news had made me think  
And from our love I’ll no more shrink.  
To Jake my father bid me wed,  
So after supper I up and fled  
Down to the stream so swift and wide  
And there I saw—I cannot hide  
This tale from you, unbelievable but true—  
I met a goblin, his waistcoat blue.  
For his key we both did search  
Beneath the maple, pine, and birch  
And when I found it lying there  
He called off the whole affair.  
He swore to me my wish he’d grant  
He gave me fruits so sweet I can’t  
Recall a single thing  
That ever made my whole heart sing—  
Save you, Joanna, your fiery touch.”  
Her friend pulled back, it was too much—  
“Jean, you sound like one possessed,”  
She said with worry, hand on her breast.  
“What is this talk of goblin men?  
Their wicked ways no mortal ken.  
It’s said their wishes bear a curse,  
They’ll shift your life from bad to worse.”  
Jean tossed her head and pulled her close.  
“My eyes are open; I know what’s most  
Important now.” Jean then kissed her on the mouth.  
“Come with me, love—we’ll flee down south  
To the border, where two girls can hide  
And ne’er be forced to be a bride.”  
Joanna stared, began to cry—  
“You think it that easy, to say goodbye?  
My mother, my father—how could I leave?  
It’d break their hearts and they would grieve.  
I watched them mourn my eldest brother—  
They could not stand to lose another.”  
Joanna stepped back, and turned away,  
Whispering, “For you, I’ll pray.  
Now please leave; be on your way.”

Jean stared, unmoving—what went wrong?  
They had shared kisses for so very long,  
And more beyond a simple kiss—  
Immortal moments of purest bliss.  
Defeated, she left and clambered down,  
Went back across the silent town  
Now wrapped in sleep and unknown dreams  
Her pathway lit by pale moon beams.  
That night within her bed she lay  
Unsleeping til the break of day.  
At breakfast time she could not eat  
Sitting, head bowed, in her seat.  
She tried an apple, then a pear—  
Each tasted awful; she didn’t dare  
Risk a grape or something more.  
She stayed at home, no trips to the store.  
She focused on knitting, and not on the pain  
Of beseeching Joanna to run in vain.  
That night she crept out, her hunger intense,  
Walked ‘cross the town, hopped over the fence  
And sat by the stream, hoping to see  
A small stunted man with whom she could plea.  
No rustling bush, no grumbling swears,  
No tiny goblin with a sack of his wares.  
Night became dawn, dawn became day,  
And Jean trudged home, a heart-sick stray.  
Joanna, embarrassed, kept out of sight  
And Jean wandered off to the river each night.  
Her luscious drown hair grew brittle and weak,  
The look on her face, increasingly bleak.  
As summer faded and autumn took hold,  
Jean bundled up, she felt constantly cold.  
Her mother and father watched her with fear.  
What had happened to their daughter most dear?  
Weak a babe, she continued to go  
Leaving her footprints in small drifts of snow.  
Her spirit felt empty, she had to know why—  
Why this strange craving? Was she going to die?  
Reaching the stream, she collapsed at the base  
Of a towering birch, the very same place  
Where first she had tasted the goblin fruit.  
She heard only water, an owl’s long hoot,  
But then heard the crunching of snow under boot.  
Jean shook her head to stay awake  
As all her limbs began to shake.  
Along the bank the goblins marched  
Bearing fruits—her throat felt parched,  
Too dry and broken to call out  
But then a goblin twitched his snout,  
Stopped them all to point and shout—

“Look, it’s her, the love-sick one,  
Whose deepest wish would be to shun  
Marriage and its trappings gold,  
The one to whom our brother old  
Three fruits gave to set the spell.  
There, you see, that certain smell?  
Fae-touched, enchanted, she wastes away,  
Her skin and hair thus thin and gray."  
Jean’s heart froze fast, her mind went numb  
How could she have been so dumb?  
Goblin folk don’t help mankind  
But suck them dry, leave just the rind.  
She hunched her shoulders, drew a breath—  
She would not be resigned to breath.  
“Give me your fruits, I see them there.  
You have plenty, so you can share.  
Undo this curse, and let me be—  
I helped your brother find his key.”  
One shook his head and wisked his tail,  
“We know, my dear; you are so frail.  
Do you really think you can command  
That which no human can understand?  
Besides, the deal is done! You wrought your fate—  
Now we have more fruit as bait  
To snare young mortals, full of love,  
Who tramp about way up above  
While underneath we toil and slave  
Growing fruits so we might stave  
Off the fury of sovereign king,  
Survive the winters long til spring.  
Our orchard craves such fresh new love,  
So in our nets we catch you, dove.”  
Thus explained, their plan was known  
Jean felt terror, all alone.  
She tried to stand, to flee and warn  
The town, ere break of morn.  
Her legs stayed still, her strength was gone,  
And so she died before the dawn  
As through the air there came a song:

“Come buy, my sweetheart, see our wares  
Just don’t forget, you’re not to stare.  
We’ve cherries and plums, quinces, blueberry  
Come buy and eat and sing; make merry!  
Never fret if you’ve no gold  
We’ll strike a deal both new and bold!  
Just be careful, watch what you say—  
You ne’er can tell what you’ll give away.  
If you say, ‘I’ll be no wife’  
Best make sure it won’t cost your life!  
For men are fickle, jealous blokes—  
And we’re no different, we little folk!”  
So they went ‘neath wise old oaks,  
Spreading lies as thick as smoke.

Since that day they found Jean dead,  
At night they leave some wine and bread  
Outside their doors, all through the town.  
Joanna sits, her grass-green gown  
Pooled by her feet; she warns them now,  
With long brown hair and furrowed brow,  
Of goblin men and poison fruits  
Such foul ends that do not suit  
A kind and gentle soul like Jean,  
Whom in plain sight grew sick and lean.  
She wonders secret thoughts her own  
Would Jean have died, if they had flown?  
She never told her love farewell  
On this failure she still dwells.  
She only hopes to spare the rest  
The bright young girls so full of zest.  
The twins she calls to most of all  
And with her stories she does enthrall  
Their hearts and minds, to keep them safe  
So thoughts of goblins would merely chafe.  
What more could she do? The one left behind  
Unspoke words caged in her mind.  
There was nothing left for her to find.

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely iambic pentameter, rhyming couplets.


End file.
